These Broken Hands
by WinterSunshine
Summary: Make money, fill the empty hole. That's Bella's game as an exotic dancer at the Sassy Apple. On her own since she ran away from home at 18, the last thing she expects is to see anyone from her past. That is, until Edward Cullen-her partner from junior and senior year Biology-stumbles into her club and is made privy to all her dirty little secrets. Canon pairings, AH.
1. Chapter 1

**BPOV**

Lola meows at me from where I lean over my vanity table, snorting cocaine.

"Go away," I say, sliding her across the bathroom floor with my foot, away from me, "It's my birthday and I have the night off. I can do four lines if I want to."

Finishing, I fall back onto the vanity stool and stare into my own reflection as the high hits. I close my eyes, reveling in it, the euphoria, the take-me-away feeling. I don't feel a thing but good, good, good.

_Happy birthday, Holli._

"Bambi! You're on in five." James pokes his head into the dressing room where I'm finishing up my makeup. God, my face feels heavy today.

I look over at him. "Got it." I ignore the way his eyes rake down my body, where I'm leaning in toward the mirror. He glances down the hall and then steps into the room, shutting the door behind him. This I can't ignore.

Every muscle in my body stiffens as he approaches.

"I have to say," I hear him murmur and now I see him step up behind me, in the mirror. "You look mighty sexy tonight, Bambi."

I straighten before his crotch makes 'accidental' contact with my ass and turn to face him. The black two piece I wear-made to be revealing-suddenly makes me feel exposed, in a bad way.

"Thank you, James. Now, if you'll excuse-" His hands go to my hips as I try to move past him, and my breath spikes. "James..."

"Bambi," he whispers back, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"James, I have to-" I begin to struggle and his fingers dig in deeper.

"_Stop_ moving," he demands, low in his throat, threatening, and I do. "Look at me." I look up at him, towering over me. "Do I make you feel scared?"

"No, sir," I say, frozen with panic.

His fingers go under my chin, tilt my face up so that I'm forced to look into his eyes. "It's not every night you get a compliment from your manager," he murmurs.

"I know, sir."

"So when I pay you one, you accept it. Got it?"

"Got it, sir," I'm whispering, and I hate how shaky my voice sounds. "Thank you, sir."

It takes every effort of mine not to pull away when he reaches up to stroke my face. "You're very welcome..."

He keeps me here for far too long. I know if I move, I'll regret it, but I'm going to miss my mark-

"Bambi?" There's a knock on the door, and abruptly James is stepping back, away from me. Kat pokes her head in and says, "Aren't you up in two? Jazz is almost finished." Her eyes flash across the room to James, where he's now standing by the closet. I adjust my top.

"Yeah," I say to her, avoiding the way she takes the two of us in, piecing together the closed door. _Please, Kat, don't get the wrong picture here..._ "I'm coming." I strap my right foot back into my shoe, from where it slipped out when I stumbled under James's dominance-not having been strapped in yet-and stride across the room toward my friend. She looks up at me, something in her cat-like eyes letting me know she doesn't expect what I've feared, and I take in a breath as I squeeze past her, out the door, into the hallway.

My heels are muffled by the white carpet as I stride toward the stage door and take my mark. Jazz heads off the stage, under the glow of the neon green lights-the lights that make the name of our club so famous.

Vic steps out onto the stage now, in a tight, curve-accenting black dress. She comments on Jazz's performance, all the performances before then.

"And now, for the performance you've all been waiting for," she murmurs, playing to the energy in Sassy Apple's audience. I feel the high come over me, in anticipation of the performance, crowding out James's advances from before. I batt my hair away from my face as Vic announces me and the lights go black.

The excited rumble from the male audience drowns out the clack of my heels as I make my way across the dark stage to the pole. I grip the vertical bar and wait for the cue. As the white lights flare, nearly blinding, so the music starts up, and I begin my dance. I move my body with the beat of the music, making sure my profile is tilted just right. As I strut around the pole, the music picks up its beat. The men start to cheer as I hook my leg around the pole and swing, showing off my ass for the audience, bending and twisting, tossing my long hair.

It's easy, once you get yourself into it, to just climb up on that pole and throw your body out there. I do it now as I wrap my thighs around the pole, climbing up to where I need to be. The men holler as I extend into an archer. This is the part where I want to close my eyes and just lose myself in the music. But I don't. I stay focused, alert, poised. Allegra box splits, rotate around the pole, down into brass bridge, sit up, grab the pole, drop into floor splits. Do some floor work, twist those legs, show off that ass, arch the back sitting up, back on the pole. Small pirouette, sit, slinky, iron x. Transition to sexy flexy, to closed inside leg hang. Back down to floor splits, on the hands and knees, stick that ass out, flick the hair, move to the music. Use the pole as support off the ground, move into crouch, stand with legs straight, head down, stick that ass out. Flip hair up as the music ends.

The crowd explodes, and I shoot a small smile their way and move off stage.

Easy as that.

I won't deny it-I'm pretty fucked up. I like to think of it as something I was born with-dealt with all of my life-instead of something I brought upon myself. I had bad luck all throughout my childhood. It's not something I dwell on. Or, at least, I try not to. I'm aware of it now, as I do a line at the end of the vanity table after my performance. I ignore the looks the girls pass me as I wipe underneath my nose.

_Screw you_, I want to shout, _You all do the same thing. Stop staring at me like I'm some sort of freak show. _I angle my shoulders away, stare into the mirror, fluff my hair back up. I try to ignore the way my hands shake. So maybe I shouldn't have taken that second hit. But after my encounter with James I'm on edge, and I can't help but give in to the voice that croons inside my head. _Just one more line, Bells, it won't hurt ya..._

"Bambi, you in here?" I hear Vic shout from the door. I lean out from the vanity table, sticking out a hand so she sees me. "You've got a client in room two!" she informs me without looking up, and then she's gone. I nod, grab the matching leather garter belt from beside my makeup bag, slipping it up snugly around my thigh.

"That was fast," Kat comments, sidling up beside me. She pulls her makeup bag toward her, rifling through it for her liquid liner no doubt.

I shrug, turning away from the mirror. "What can I say?" I comment, shooting myself a sexy pout, "They like what I do."

With that I stride past all the rest of the girls, back into the green-light-washed hallway, hooking a right instead of a left, headed toward the private rooms. I never think too much about the client I'm about to dance for. Usually they're middle-aged, balding, sweaty and sporting a decent ponch. It's a Saturday night so I could be looking at tons of different options: businessman looking for some action to spice up his night (good tips), a bachelor about to be married (decent), one of the regulars (whom I pretend is new every time I see them), or a variety of partyers who got a little too intoxicated both by alcohol and the sight of a near-naked woman on the stage that they were willing to fork over five hundred bucks for an hour alone with me.

I stop outside the door. I spot Em situated against the wall a couple yards down. He looks over at me, nods. I nod back. Emmett McCarthy is like the big brother I never had growing up. He's always looking out for me. He's been working in the kitchen since he was fourteen or something and never left. He mostly bounces now, but occasionally tends the bar. I feel safe either way. I know he'll look after me.

With that in mind, I slip into the room and find the typical middle-aged man, red-faced, with a glass of champagne in his hand, lounging on the semi-circular leather couch. The walls in here are white, as well as the carpet. The light shines blue, casting a ghostly pall over both my skin and his. On a platform in the middle of the room stands a pole, just gleaming as it waits for me.

"Good evening," I say to him, putting on my best exotic dancer voice and smile as I stride over to him. I ease myself into the cool leather cushions next to him, taking up a position that looks both innocent and irresistible at the same time. "Welcome to Sassy Apple. I'm pleased you came to visit me tonight. What's your name?"

"Bill," the man in front of me croaks, taking a nervous sip of his champagne, though he tries to hide it.

_New at this, Bill?_ "Are you familiar with our private shows here at Sassy Apple, Bill?" I ask him, edging a heel onto the cliff of the couch.

"Pretty familiar," he confirms, nodding.

"Good. Then I don't have to remind you that we are being monitored and you are not to touch me unless I invite it, correct?"

He nods again.

There's a quiet moment, and then he says, "You were amazing out there."

I grin, trying to keep my seductive persona up. "Thank you, Bill. I always try my best."

"I bet you do," he agrees, finally warming up.

"Would you like me to dance for you again, Bill? I'd be happy to do that..."

I ignore the way his eyes roam down my body, drinking me in like a man who's been trapped in the dessert without water for days. I glance at his left hand. No ring. Either he isn't married, or he's hiding the evidence and looking for an outlet. I don't care either way.

"It's your hour," I continue, "I'm happy to remove any or all of my clothing for you," I add.

"I bet you have beautiful tits, Bambi," he tells me, not even taking his eyes off of my chest.

I laugh, playing along as I stand, my fingers going to the front clasp on the bikini top. "Would you like to see them, Bill?" My tone is teasing, light.

He leans forward, slipping a twenty into my belt. "That would be lovely, Bambi," he says.

"Thank you, Bill," I say, and pop the clasp on the top, tossing it onto the floor at my feet. I let him ogle for a few seconds. Recognition lights in his eyes when I inch closer and he slips another twenty into my belt. I smile. "A dance?"

He nods, clearing his throat. "A dance," he confirms.

I move over to the pole, finding a rhythm, ignoring the shake in my hands, closing my eyes to zone into the high coursing through my veins. I dance for this man, earning over two hundred in tips by the end of our hour. When he leaves, I slip back into my top, fall back onto the couch and tilt my head back to stare up at the mirrored ceiling. I see a disgusting woman staring back at me, the innocence in her big brown eyes so fake it makes me want to puke.


	2. Chapter 2

**Um, okay, first off... I am amazed by how many alerts and favorites this story has already received. Thank you so much, you guys! I am so humbled. When I saw those emails flood my inbox, I just had to write up another chapter, but don't expect this daily. I work full-time, but have had a few days off recently, so that's why I'm so available. Realistically, this story will take a weekly update kind of rhythm... Annyway. Thanks again, ladies (and gents?) and enjoy the second chapter!**

**BPOV**

**.**

Back in the dressing room, I shove the wad of cash I made into my bag. Already sitting there, bound by an elastic, sits the earnings I made on stage. T_hanks, Vic. At least one of my managers isn't a total sleaze bag._ I figure I'll count it when I get home. I am just about alone in the room, which is very much a rarity. There's a girl sitting way at the other end, painting her nails. She didn't even glance up when I walked in. Maybe she's amped, too.

I wiggle into my jeans and pull a shirt on over my top. Switch the heels for a pair of flats, grab my leather jacket and my bag, and I'm out of here. I'm heading toward the door when Kat steps inside, her short spiked black hair damp. Right, she was supposed to do some sort of water act tonight. I'm just about to head past her so that I can make it down the road to catch the RTC on time. She holds up a tiny hand.

"Kat, I really don't have the time to-"

With surprising force she grips my arm, stopping me in my tracks when I make a move to squeeze past her. "What the hell was going on in here with James?" she whispers now. Her eyes blaze into mine demandingly, and just as I'm about to defend myself-_It wasn't me, it was him_-she says, "Has he been pulling that shit for long?"

I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. I need to go home and scrub all the hairspray out of it. Then I need to take a couple Vicoden and sleep.

"I'm gonna kick him in the balls if he tries to fuck with you again, do you hear me?"

Kat may be five foot nothing-Hell, I don't even know she landed a job as a stripper-but she's got an attitude that could only have come from the pits of Hades. She makes up for her height and size in all her fire and spunk. The bouncers are rarely coming to her rescue in time. Shit, she takes all the glory out of it. By the time they get there, she's got the guy in a death-lock. If she could spit venom, she would.

Truth be told, a small part of me feels honored that she's willing to protect me so much. At the same time, though, it pisses me off. What, she thinks I can't fend for myself? Now, I yank my arm from her grasp. "I can handle myself, Alice," I hiss. Her eyes dart around the room when she hears her real name uttered from my mouth. Before she can reply, I shift around her, out the door, and into the night.

.

I live in a closet-sized apartment, only a ten minute bus ride from the club. Pretty convenient, if you ask me. Upon inserting my key into the door, I find that Rose, my roommate, is home early. I open the door quietly, doing my best not to be heard or noticed. It's a rarity that she gets home so early on Fridays.

The front entryway is dark, the sliding door at the back of the living room shut, and the curtains swept tight. The TV is off, the kitchen left empty-though the florescent light is left humming. Off to the right-where her bedroom is located-I don't hear even the droning of her TV. This must mean she's asleep.

_Really, Rose? Leaving this shit-hole apartment unlocked while you're not awake to defend yourself? That's just stupid._ I'd have to give her shit in the morning.

In the meantime, I slide my feet out of my shoes and cross to my bedroom where I grab a sleep shirt, a pair of simple cotton underwear-sexy, I know-and a pair of wool socks. The heating sucks in this apartment. I cross back to the bathroom and ease the door shut behind me.

For a moment, I'm confronted by the girl in the mirror. Her hair looks perfect, and so does her face, but underneath it all she's still that small helpless teenager from three years ago. No matter how far I run, no matter how many different places I hide, or how many times I flood my veins with drugs to numb it out, I can't escape her and the truth I see in her eyes. I can't run from it, though, three years later, God fucking knows I'm trying.

I turn on the shower, as hot as it will go, and strip. I climb in and stand under the spray for a good amount of time. We get surprisingly good water pressure in this place. I scrub the vile club-smell from my hair, wash the makeup off my face, the grime from my body. When I climb out my skin is raw from the heat and my vigor in cleaning it, but I like it. I like the tingling in my skin, the buzzing behind my ears.

This time, as I get dressed, I ignore my reflection in the mirror. I cross back over to my room, successful in not waking Rose, abandon my clothes in the laundry hamper, and go to my bedside drawer. Lola trounces across my bed from where she's been napping and rubs her head up against me. I pet her absently as I pull open the drawer with one hand and dig through it. My hands have long ago stopped their shaking, but other things, images, are flooding my mind, and I need to sleep so that they can disappear.

Finally, I find the pill bottle. I press my palm to the lid and twist. It pops off, clattering to the floor. I dump three pills into my hand, dry-swallow them and pick up the lid. Once the bottle is back in the drawer, I slip underneath the covers and wait for sleep, black and plunging, to make _me_ disappear.

.

**EPOV**

**.**

If you took a glance, a cursory look at my life, you would say I was pretty damn near perfect. I'm not. I used to think I could be, used to think I could be like my dad one day. Dr. Carlisle Cullen, renowned surgeon.

Nope. Think again. I had to learn the very hard way that life just isn't fucking perfect. You can try-Jesus, can you try-but you're never going to make it that way. Lord knows I tried. But that was before I went and fucked it all up.

It's been three years since I made the mistake of my life. I'm twenty-five. I work as a music composer from the comfort of my own home. I get to travel, a lot-especially lately. I am extremely well-loved by my parents, and I make an average of 150, 000 a year.

"Edward?" I shake my head, coming back to the present. I'm on a date. In front of me sits a beautiful blond. She's drinking red wine, though mine sits untouched at my elbow. She's asked me to tell her about myself-I seem so perfect.

"I'm sorry, Lauren. I got lost in thought there."

She smiles, as if to let me know that it's perfectly fine. "So?"

"So...?"

"Tell me about yourself, Edward," she says, laughing. Though I can tell she's getting frustrated.

Truthfully, I have no desire whatsoever to be here. But I'm not gonna tell her that. So I take a sip of my wine and dive into my best Hi-I'm-Edward-and-here-is-my-life-story speech.

.

We don't sleep together. Which is fine by me. I, personally, avoid that at all costs. I don't plan on seeing her again.

I head home around eleven and find Ben, my long-time roommate, still awake. He's flipping through game highlights, a beer in his hand. There are two empties on the coffee table in front of him. He looks up when I walk through the door and gives me a smirk.

"No lady on the arm tonight? I'm shocked." Ben very well knows that I don't bring girls home, and the sarcasm in his tone is a little too biting.

I shake my head at him and walk into the kitchen. "Got anymore of those?"

"In the fridge," he calls to me.

I grab a beer and crack it open, taking a lengthly sip before I join him in the living room. I flop onto the arm chair adjacent to the couch and fix my eyes on the television set.

"How'd it go?" he asks in all honesty now and I look over at him. I only have to give him one look before he shakes his head, laughing. "Shit, man. That bad?"

I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers. "I should just stop going on dates with blond chicks."

Ben takes a contemplative sip of his beer. "I thought you would have figured that out with Tanya."

"Yeah, well... What can I say?"

He kicks his feet up and leans back into the cushions. Ben and I have lived together for almost two years now. He's a pretty decent guy. He gets me talking, but knows when he's pushing the limits. Mostly we spend our time on opposite sides of the house, but there are nights like this when a man-to-man is highly needed.

"So," he says now, "You goin' to Henderson next weekend?"

"Henderson?" I say, "Why the fuck would I go to Henderson?"

He reminds me as soon as I recall, and we say the name in unison: "_Mike_."

"Why would he choose a place like Henderson for his bachelor party when Vegas is like twenty minutes away?"

Ben shrugs. "Cheaper strippers?"

I laugh and take another sip. "You goin'?"

"Don't act like you aren't." Ben jabs a finger at me. "You know just as well that we both gotta go... Look, I got your back, you've got mine."

"Jesus," I groan, "Whoever invented 'Gentlemen's Clubs' were idiots. Those places are nasty."

Ben sighs, shaking his head. "I don't know, man. Mike's gonna be pissed if we don't go."

"I'll go, I'll go," I relent, "But I'm not saying I'll enjoy it."

Ben laughs. "To top it off, we're going to some place called _Sassy Apple_. Could it get any lamer?"

I can't help but join in on the laughter.

.

**BPOV**

**.**

"Alright, Sassy Apple," Vic says from where she stands on the stage in tight leather pants and a glimmering halter top that shows off the entirety of her back, "You all know what night it is!" The crowd hoots and hollers as Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar On Me" starts up. "Make some noise for the girls on the bar!" She has to holler over the noise.

This is something we do every Saturday night. James and Victoria both said it would pull in more customers, and it has, but it doesn't mean that it makes it any more bearable. Still, here I stand, on top of the bar, clad in a pair of ass-baring leather shorts and a glitzy bikini top, swaying my body to the beat of the music along with six other girls.

Immediately I'm making eye contact with a young looking guy. He points at me, and I play along, laughing and pointing at him. I grab his hand, playful, put on a little show. I turn my body away from him, crouching down to show off my ass. I glance over my shoulder at him, winking as I wiggle my ass back up. He gestures for me to come closer, and I get down on my knees, moving in to shove my breasts in his face. At the same time I feel him shove a couple bills-dollar, twenty, fifty?-down my top, I feel another pair of hands slip a couple more into the band of my shorts. I pay attention only to the guy in front of me, leaning in and grasping his face, pretending to pucker up and then pull away, laughing.

"Thank you," I shout in his ear, though I doubt he hears me as I get back up. I strut around a little, slap another girl's ass.

Vic's shouting into the microphone, keeping us focused. I can hear the song building up to the chorus and I turn toward the inside of the bar, bending down to retrieve two cups of water, making sure to stick my ass out as I do. As Joe Elliot moves into the chorus, I dump the contents of the two cups I've grabbed down my front, writhing, tossing my hair, wriggling my body as I do so. Cheers swell around us as we get wet. I splash a girl in the ass, pour some water down my back, wagging my hips sharply back and forth to the down beat as I do so.

On my knees, sticking my hips out, pouring water down my shorts. Bills go into my stockings, my shorts, my top when I lean over, shaking my tits for the guys. I grin and sing along, act like I'm having the time of my life when all I want to do is get the fuck out of here.

I move over to the other side of the bar, hoping to get more tips over there, dropping my ass to the crowd, flirting, holding their hands, splashing water out over them. Kicking, spinning, rocking my body as hard as I can. Dancing with the other girls, licking water off them, letting them roam their tongues over me, letting their hands slap my ass.

We're all breathing hard, and soaked as the song comes to an end and Victoria riles up their attention again, directing them back to the main stage so that we can make our way to the back. As I jump down off the bar, the guy I've been getting the majority of my tips from approaches me and I grin.

"Hey," I shout over the din of the music, "You got more for me?"

"Yeah, baby," he shouts as I turn, rotating my hips so that my ass just grazes the front of his pants.

I toss my soaked hair in his face and say, "Put your hands down there, big boy."

He does, groping a greedy feel of my ass as he deposits his tips there. When he gets too grabby, I turn.

"Thanks!" I yell, giving him another wink and a smile and then I'm skipping back through the crowd, in search of a towel.

In the change room, Lulu says, "What the hell were you doing out there, Bambi?"

I squeeze past her, ignoring the flighty, too-fast pumping of my heart as I snatch a towel from the pile and wrap it around myself. "Oh, shove it, Lu," I say, composed, cool, "You just wish you were so brave."

"Yeah," she retorts, rolling her eyes, "Because I just love having some random filthy guy's hands all over my ass."

Honestly? I'd hit her. But I'm too fucking high to care. I pull the tips from my shorts, top, and stockings with vibrating hands, counting at least two hundred and fifty bucks. I smirk. I haven't even been here for half an hour. I have the feeling that tonight is going to be a good night.

I shut off the disgust, the regret, and I focus on the invincible feeling in my gut, weightless like a helium balloon. It could lift me into the rafters. I slide into my next outfit-an emerald bandeau-style top with side-cut panties. The short sleeves around the middle part of my biceps will act as good tip-holders for the next performance. I blow out my hair. Upon walking into the club, it had been straight, but now, wet and having dried without any product, it's brought out the natural wave to it. At the base of my ribs, slight ringlets curl. I almost thank my father for the natural beauty of my hair, but then second guess it. Instead I admire my body, the way the v in my bottoms shows off the muscled definition in my core.

My next set is in three-I'd better get out there.

I step out into the hall and smack into the wall of muscle that is Emmet McCarthy's chest.

"What the fuck?" he explodes when he sees it's me and he grabs my wrists, stopping me from going anywhere.

"Em, let me go," I say, tugging at his hold, though it isn't aggressive, "I have a set in two."

"I have the right mind to handcuff you to my side for the rest of the night," he growls.

"Oo, handcuffs," I comment, "Kinky."

"Bells!" he huffs and I shoot him a dagger look.

"_Bambi_," I correct. I don't want anyone in the club knowing my real name. Alice and Emmett are enough.

"Seriously, Bambs," he continues, complying, seething, "What the hell was that? I saw that prick's hands down your pants. You want to get fired, do you?"

I sigh. "C'mon, Emmett. It was one grope, and I allowed it. It was all part of the act."

"It looked pretty slutty to me, actually," he says.

"Well, _news flash_!" I hiss, now ripping my wrist from the manacle his huge hand makes, "Maybe I'm being fucking _paid_ to be a goddamn _whore_!"

He has nothing to counter that, and so I stomp off down the hall, toward the stage door.


	3. Chapter 3

**EPOV**

**.**

Tanya drops Elodie off at the house on Saturday morning, eight a.m. sharp.

I watch them pull up to the curb from the front window. Tanya's releasing El from her seat, and she's bounding up the driveway before Tanya can get her bag from the trunk.

Even from inside, I can hear her singing, "Daddy, daddy, daddy!" as she bounds toward the house. I watch the ringlets of her redder-than-strawberry hair flash in the sunlight, and then she's in the shadow of the house, coming up the steps and I'm pulling open the front door, and then pulling her into my arms.

"Daddy!" she cries, wrapping her little arms like a vise around my neck.

This is the amazing product of a mistake I made three years ago. This is the beautiful disaster of mine and Tanya's irresponsibility.

"Hi, gorgeous!" I say, squeezing her tight. I love this child with all my heart. If it wasn't for her, I'd be across the globe, searching for some other meaning to my life. But to be a father to her, despite the shortcomings of mine and Tanya's failed trial at a relationship, is the world to me.

Now, I catch Tanya's eye over our daughter's shoulder. She's coming up the walk, Elodie's 'Hello Kitty' overnight bag over her shoulder. She looks grumpy, distracted, even behind her oversized sunglasses. She wears jeans that make her ass look amazing-I know, I'm scum-and a tank-top that shows off the muscle in her biceps. Has she lost weight?

"Hey," I call out to her now.

"Hi," she responds, trudging toward us with the bag.

"How are you?" I can hear how forced my niceties sound, and I hate it. If only for Elodie, I wish there was something in us that could still be friends.

"Fine," she responds, equally forced, "You?"

"Pretty good."

Tanya sets the bag inside the threshold, but doesn't make a move to come inside. She stands with her arms folded over her chest, sunglasses still on, though the shelter from the awning debunks its use.

"Have a good weekend with Daddy, okay, sweetie?" she says, and Elodie is squirming from my arms into Tanya's.

"Love you, mommy!" she says, and they embrace. Tanya kisses our daughter and hands her back. Then she's gone.

"Daddy!" Elodie's saying as soon as Tanya's car is pulling away from the curb, "Can we go to the zoo?"

"We can do anything you want, kiddo," I say, "But first you need to put your bag in your room."

She squeals so loudly I think my ear drums will burst. She's definitely inherited her zealous attitude from her mother.

.

**BPOV**

**.**

_"How did I know I'd find you here?"_

_I look up from the depths of my coffee, into Jacob Black's face. He doesn't note the bags under my eyes or the knots in my hair. He doesn't see the shake in my hands-or at least he doesn't say anything about it-and he doesn't try to read my cocaine-induced, manic scrawling in the notebook next to my elbow._

_"Couldn't sleep again," I say, shrugging my shoulders. Nova is the 24-hour coffee shop I've been visiting for a week now. I've slept through the night once since last Friday-the rest have been interrupted unendingly by nightmares and fits of flashbacks._

_Jake reaches across the table to touch my hand, but I pull them into my lap. He seems to notice now the dilation of my pupils, the vibration in my fingertips._

_"Bell," he says lowly, in **that** voice and I sigh, turning my head to look out the window over the parking lot. The obvious high he sees in my gaze is nothing new-what's different is the frequency. I've used almost all my stash in this week alone. Usually it lasts me almost a month._

_"Don't start," I respond, my voice equally as low, "If there's one time in my life I deserve to self-medicate, this is it."_

_"I think you should go home and sleep. You need to self-medicate in a way that is not going to stop your heart."_

_I don't say anything, examine the other side of the road, searching for any sign of life at half-past midnight in this tiny little town._

_"Maybe you should see-"_

_"Do **not**," I snap, rising abruptly, "tell me I need to see someone. I'm no therapy case."_

_"Bella," he starts, protesting as I slap a ten down on the table and scoop up my books and purse. I sling it over my shoulder, grab my rain jacket off the back of the booth and step out into the aisle. "Bella!" he repeats, with stronger conviction this time, "Don't go."_

_"Thanks, Sadie!" I'm calling out to my waitress of the night, now striding toward the door, pumping my legs, hoping Jacob won't catch up to me._

_"Bella! For Chrissakes, **wait**!" He grabs my wrist just as I reach the door, tugging me to an easy, effortless stop. Damn him and all his bulk and strength._

_"What, Jacob?" I seethe, ripping my arm from his grasp, "What are you going to tell me? That I'm gonna 'move past this'? It's not that easy!"_

_"I know, Bells, but-"_

_I hold up a hand to stop him. "I have to go. I'm sorry."_

_I leave my best friend staring out after me as I step out into the rain._

.

I step into my apartment, winding my still slightly damp hair into a high knot. As I step around the door, I spot Rosalie sitting at the bar. There is a bottle of Pinnacle vodka in front of her, and an empty shot glass at her elbow. She glances over her shoulder when she hears my arrival.

"Hey," she greets me on a sigh and drops her head into her hands.

"Long night?" I ask, slipping out of my shoes and ditching my bag by the door. I cross to her, propping my elbows on the edge of the counter as she peers out at me between her fingers. Her eyes are a deep cerulean blue, and I wish I had them.

"Don't ever let me take a Saturday night off to go on a date again-deal?"

"As long as you share the goods," I joke, gesturing to the blue bottle. She glances at it and then waves her hand toward the cupboard where the shot glasses are kept.

I retrieve one and let her pour me a shot. I pour it back, swallowing and feeling the heat flood my chest. I slide into a bar stool next to her.

"Why is your hair all wet?" she asks, fingering a strand I missed, "It's not raining, is it?"

I shake my head. "Saturday."

For a minute she looks confused and then realization dawns on her face and she says, "Ah, good ol' Def Leppard..."

I shake my head. "I fucking hate it."

"Bells, why don't you quit?" she asks now, laying a hand over mine, "We're hiring over at Pink Lady"-the bar she works at all hours of the week-"I'm sure I could talk to Greg-he'd hire you. You waitress over there, too, right?" I pretend I don't hear her as I reach for the bottle and pour myself another shot. I gulp it back as she continues, "You had your rebellious, wild days. Don't you think it's time you settled down, got a real job?"

I snort a laugh as the heat floods my veins again. This, mixed with the two lines I did just before I left the club, has got me flying high. "A real job? Rose, how is being a waitress a real job? You have to go to college for real job kind of shit."

She shrugs and says, "I'm a year away from my degree. The only reason I stick around that joint is to pay my tuition and the bills. Once I'm done college, I'm out of there. Anyway-you can't be comfortable where you're at, Bells."

"I make enough money. I'm happy this way."

"You're selling your soul, body and innocence to make that money. Sooner or later-"

"I'm not innocent by far, Rosalie." I can feel the annoyance rising in me again. First Emmett criticizes me about my 'rampant ways' and now Rose is joining in? Fuck this.

"Look," she says, hearing the impatient timbre in my voice, "All I'm saying is that you deserve more than this."

I take a third shot and stand, retrieving my bag and headed toward my bedroom. _But maybe I don't_, I want to stay. Instead, I keep silent and go to my bedside drawer, where oblivion awaits.

.

Before I know it, it's Friday morning again, and I'm lying in bed, fighting off the haze of the drugs. Maybe three Ambien last night wasn't the best idea. I can feel Lola crawling around at my feet. I keep my eyes closed as she jumps off the bed and peruses over to the door. After a moment I hear her lift a paw, scratch at the door.

"Lola," I groan, rolling my face into my pillow, "Please let me sleep just another hour."

Now she meows, scratches again.

With a huff I relent, ripping myself from the comfort of my warm sheets and storming over to the door. I yank it open. We are alone in the apartment. Rosalie left for an early class and I don't start work until eight.

I watch my cat head toward the washroom where the litter box waits. Half of me wants to go back to bed. The other half knows that this apartment is in need of a good cleaning. So I pull on some shorts and take the garbage out.

.

**EPOV**

**.**

"Hey, Eddie! Let's go!" Ben is calling from the front door. I'm half sitting in my office, trying to finish up the email I'm sending to the producer I've been working with. My overnight bag sits by the door, packed and ready.

"Give me one sec!" I call back, madly typing, as fast as my fingers will allow.

"I've given you ten! They're waiting for us!"

I finish off the message, click send and jump from my seat, pick up my bag and head out the door.

_Get ready, Henderson... Here we come._

.

**BPOV**

**.**

It's mid-afternoon when I realize the only thing I've had to eat today is an apple, and that was at a quarter to eight this morning. I've scrubbed the bathroom, done the laundry, cleaned the kitchen and organized my bedroom.

I put on some street-appropriate clothes and head out the door for some lunch. I decide to walk the five blocks to the small cafe. It's a nice day, and I could use some cardio. I need to balance out my strength workouts.

I step through the door and place my order, and then find a table in the corner to sit at. My number is being called when a group of rowdy guys steps through the door. I don't look back, just pick up my tray and head back over to the table, face shielded by my hair.

"Hey!" one of the guys in the crowd calls, "This poor sucker's getting married next week. Think you could spare us some free meals?"

The woman behind the counter laughs, says, "Sorry, hun. That ain't gonna happen."

I eat, wondering where they'll go tonight, wonder if they'll wind up at Sassy Apple. I doubt it, but I keep my back to them anyway.

They find a table, still as rowdy as ever and I'm just finishing off my soda when out of my peripheral vision, I see him. He's headed toward the bathrooms, walking past my table. And when I see that copper hair, I know I've made no mistake.

Before I can stop myself, I'm standing, clumsily knocking over my chair in the process. On my way to try and catch it, I tip my soda over and-still half full-it spills all over the table, dripping over the edge. Ice clatters across the linoleum floor and my face, for the first time in years, turns pink.

"Shit," I'm muttering, for a minute forgetting about him. I right my cup, and am about to pick my chair up off the floor when I hear him speak.

"Bella?"

I straighten, turning back toward him, face flooding even redder. I am such a fucking klutz. "Edward?" I gasp. I sound giddy, breathless, and I square my shoulders, steeling myself.

Poised, Bella... In control.

"Oh my god!" he says, moving in toward me, "How have you been?"

"It's been..."

"Years!"

He hugs me, and then pulls back, grabbing me by the shoulders.

"You look good, Bella!"

_Oh, Edward... If only you knew what got me here..._ "Thanks!" I say, still the breathless, giddy girl, "You do too!"

"What a coincidence," he says, "Do you live here now?"

"Yeah, actually," I reply, "And you're here for... a bachelor party?"

He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose just like I remember. "Don't remind me of that. I'm trying to avoid the reality for as long as possible."

I laugh, and it feels strange, foreign beyond relief. The feeling is uncomfortable, and suddenly I'm turning back toward my table, gathering my things.

"Well, it was great to see you, but I gotta jet," I'm saying, shuffle shuffle, gather gather.

"Yeah..." He says, just standing there and watching me, "Great to see you, too."

I bow my head, clutch my purse and jacket to my chest and head for the door.

_Please please please_, I'm praying-to whom, I don't know-_Please don't come to Sassy Apple tonight..._


	4. Chapter 4

**EPOV**

**.**

I'm on my way to the cafe bathroom to take a leak, and I don't even notice her until she knocks over her chair and spills her soda over the side of her table. In reaction to the spectacle, I glance idly over, but then do a double take. Bella is not the same girl she was seven years ago. It takes me a minute to fully realize it's her.

"_Shit_," she's saying, righting the chair, scrambling to mop up the spilled soda with the two measly napkins she was given on her tray.

"Bella?" I say, and she stops what she's doing and looks up at me. Not with surprise, as if she's noticing me for the first time, but with chagrin, as if she knows I've watched this entire catastrophe play out. Her face is bright pink, the color in her cheeks just as I remember it. "Edward?" she responds, seemingly out of breath. She brushes some of that long hair out of her face. It wasn't that long in high school. She looks... amazing. For a moment she seems totally out of sorts, but then she's straightening, and abruptly she's utterly composed.

"Oh my god!" I finally say, snapping out of my Bella-ogling-reverie, and I start toward her, "How have you been?"

"It's been-" she says, still seeming shocked.

"Years!" I finish. Before I can stop myself, I'm pulling her to me, hugging her, and then pulling back but keeping her shoulders. "You look good, Bella!" _What an understatement, Cullen._

"Thanks," she stammers, "You do too!"

I'm thinking to myself how crazy it is to meet up with her again after such a long absence. "What a coincidence," I voice, because what are the chances of stumbling across each other in this tiny cafe in Henderson, Nevada of all places? "Do you live here now?"

She's nodding. "Yeah actually; and you're here for-a bachelor party?" Her gaze-those big brown eyes-flicker momentarily over to the table where the rest of the guys are sitting, waiting for our food to be ready. I can't help but be immediately embarrassed at the prospect we must pose. _Yep! Just stopping in for some grub before we head over to the strip clubs!_ What low-life sleaze we must seem like.

I groan, thinking this, and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Don't remind me of that," I say, trying to save face, "I'm trying to avoid the reality as long as possible."

She laughs then, which is equally relieving and riveting. Did that laugh sound so amazing seven years back? I'm trying to think of something that will make that ringing-bell-like laugh sound again, when she's suddenly turning back to her table, beginning to gather her things.

"Well, it was great to see you, but I gotta jet."

I stand back a few feet, watching her scramble her things together, clutching her jacket to her front, snatching her purse off a chair that hadn't been overturned in her surprise.

"Yeah." This is all I can say. What the fuck is this? We just reunited after seven years of being apart and now she's leaving so suddenly? There's a good chance we won't ever see each other again. But I'm too fucking stupid to do anything but watch her leave. I don't even ask for her number.

The bells over the door ring as she exits, and the sound brings me back.

When I return to the table, the food has arrived.

"You know that chick?" Mike's asking as I slide into the booth next to Eric. His mouth is full of burger and I try not to cringe. I absolutely _abhor_ when people talk with their faces stuffed. Maybe it was my upbringing, but either way, it drives me nuts.

"Yeah," I say, taking a sip of my soda. "We went to high school together."

Eric whistles lowly, and at the sound I instantaneously feel defensive. "She was smokin'," he comments.

"If the rest of the chicks in this city are as hot as she was," Mike says, his mouth now clear, "We are in for a good night, fellas." He winks, and takes another bite.

All I can think about is the fact that I didn't fucking get her number.

.

**BPOV**

**.**

I'm in the bathroom brushing my teeth. It's a quarter after seven. My shift starts in forty-five minutes. My flat iron sits, heating, on the counter by the sink and I've already finished my makeup. My bag-equipped with the outfits I'll need tonight, and my toiletry bag of makeup refreshers and such-sits by the door, and Lola is curled up on it, sleeping. I'm too distracted-okay, nervous-to shove her off.

I've done three lines already, and it's hardly lowered my anxiety level. But if I want to be functional tonight, I can't afford to intoxicate myself any further. However, a small baggie is tucked safely into the inside pocket of my bag. Just in case.

I hear Rose's key in the lock now and then the door opens. "Hi!" she calls out, announcing herself. I hear her slip out of her shoes, drop her bag at the door. A moment later she's in the bathroom doorway behind me.

I wave in the mirror and then lean over, holding my hair back as I spit into the sink, rinsing my mouth out. "Hey," I finally say, putting my toothbrush back in the holder. I pin up half my hair now and take my flat iron to the bottom layers. "How was...?"

"Class? Draining. I'm dead. Do we have any ice cream?" She's heading back in the direction of the kitchen.

"I don't think so," I call back, clamping another section of hair between the ceramic plates. I'm lucky I live with Rosalie. She taught me a lot about makeup and hair. If not, I don't know what I'd do.

I hear the freezer door open. Rose rummages around inside for a moment. "Damn," she finally says and the door shuts again. I hear her roaming the kitchen for comfort food as I finish up my hair. By the time I emerge from the washroom, bag in hand, she's sitting on the couch in front of the TV, eating a bowl of cereal. She glances up when I step into the room.

"Off to work?" she asks.

I nod. "Remember to lock the door before you go to sleep," I say, "I came home the other night and it was unlocked. Just... be safe, okay?"

She nods. "Sorry. I know you..." She shakes her head. "Yeah. I'll do that."

"Okay." I glance around the room, dreading tonight's shift more than ever. Finally, I turn toward the door. "See ya later."

.

**EPOV**

**.**

The Hummer Stretch picks us up from the hotel at half past eight, by which time the majority of the guys are drunk out of their minds. I don't know how we get into the club, but we do.

It's exactly what I've expected-music pumping so loud you can't hear yourself think, neon green lights draping an alien-like pall over the room. Near-naked bitches everywhere. On platforms between the tables, on the main stage in front. The waitresses are barely clad in alternating green and white dresses, whose necklines drop nearly to their belly buttons. Heels miles high. I can feel the depravity in this place, and immediately I want to leave. It's depressing.

But we're being led through the crowds now, right to a table up front. A waitress, tall, blond and busty, brings us a pitcher. I give in and order a Screwdriver. If I'm stuck here, I might as well get wasted.

There are three girls on stage, all in various stages of undress. I try to appreciate the view, but all I can think about is how broken these women must be, to be able to sell their souls like this.

The thoughts coming into my head are surprising me. Depravity? Brokenness? I haven't thought like this since I was a teenager. I was brought up in a fairly religious home-though my mom would be sure to correct me on that. _It's relationship, Edward_, she would say, _We practice something far from religion and rules and rituals._

Not to get all freaky, but I thought I knew Jesus at a point in my life. When things were going well, before the temptations of life really started to get to me. I went to church growing up, Sunday school, youth group, the whole gamut. I didn't date in high school, I didn't look at porn, I carried my bible around in my backpack like a regular old text book. I was made fun of, of course-_persecuted_, my parents would say.

I was sure of my purpose back then. I was a really big participant of the worship team back in high school-keyboard, piano, singing. I felt totally and completely in my element, and I had been looking at fine art secondary schools since sophomore year. In high school, I was sure that music was the purpose God had for my life.

Between graduation and going off to college and being on my own, that God-given purpose bled into something that was just... well, my passion, what _I_ wanted to do. Between parties and studying and hanging out with non-Christian friends, I lost my faith. It was a fairly painless, easy transition. With no one to really keep me accountable, living across the state from my parents, I didn't even feel guilty about the separation. No one asked me why I wasn't going to church anymore, or why my bible sat in the back of my dormitory closet, unread and gathering dust.

Then Elodie happened, and that was the last straw. If there was an All Knowing Being who was supposedly 'watching out for me' and 'planning good for my life' then why the fuck did he let something like _that_ happen?

Since then I've been living life my way, and aside from a few things, it's going pretty well.

A sultry redhead brings me back to reality. She steps out onto the stage, microphone in hand as the strippers leave, and applauds them. This must be the 'house mom' or whatever the hell they're called.

She's commenting on their performances, and then announcing someone else. "And now, what all you regulars have been waiting for," she's saying, "Every Friday night, she's here to perform only for you, at Sassy Apple... Here's _Bambi_!" She gestures to the west wing, introducing the next dancer with over the top gusto.

.

**BPOV**

**.**

I don't see Edward or his bachelor party buddies in the first set. For a moment, the obvious thought hits me: _They were probably moving on to Vegas. Stopping in for lunch._ And a wave of relief hits. I'm able to dance with ease for the first couple songs. While I'm backstage, though, getting ready for my solo performance, I remember that Edward never corrected me in the cafe.

_"And you're here for... a bachelor party?"_

_He'd groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose just like I remembered. "Don't remind me of that. I'm trying to avoid the reality for as long as possible."_

I try to shake off the thoughts in my head that tell me he's totally going to be out there waiting when I emerge for my performance as I squirm into a pair of shiny silver booty shorts and a matching pair of knee-high boots.

_Chill, Bella_, I demand of myself.

I snap into my top, ruffle my hair, check to make sure my makeup isn't smudged or anything. Then I move down the hall to take my mark.

My hands are shaking, not from the cocaine, but from pure, unadulterated terror. If Edward sees me performing... Everything will fall apart. His former perception of me will crumble, and despite how much I try to ignore it, I'm ashamed. I'm _so_ ashamed of what I do. This realization-that I don't think I've admitted till now-has my hands shaking even more.

Vic calls my stage name, and this is it. I step out onto the stage, willing myself not to look out into the crowd, only focused on the bar in the middle of the stage. I grip it, wait for the music to start. I begin my dance, focusing on the bar, the lights, the floor, anything but the faces in the crowd.

At the last possible moment, though, as the music fades, my resolve slips, and I look.


End file.
